Running with the Devil
by TehLadyCav
Summary: What if one bold choice changed the course of your life?
1. Chapter 1

_Don't look a gift horse in the mouth_

 _Come on try and tell me what you're talkin' about_

 _Those things you're dealing with, you're living a lie_

 _Every time I see you it makes me wanna cry_

 _Sometimes we laughed and talked, seems like yesterday_

 _Then you let the white horse come and take you away_

 _They came to get you, it was cold and black_

 _The wheels were in motion, there was no turning back_

 _Runnin' from an angel, runnin' to the devil, devil, yeah_

 _Runnin' from an angel, runnin' to the devil_

 _I gave up on you a long time ago_

 _But there's something I want you to know_

 _Your lyin' and cheatin' really tore us apart_

 _Please don't come home if you're gonna break my momma's heart_

 _Runnin' from an angel, runnin' to the devil, devil, yeah_

 _Runnin' from an angel, runnin' to the devil_

 _Runnin', runnin', runnin', yeah_

 _Don't make me cry again, no, no, oh_

 _Love that stayin' by_

 _Love that you make me cry_

 _You're runnin', you're runnin'_

 _You're runnin', runnin, runnin', runnin'_

 _Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no, no_

 _Runnin' from an angel_

 _Runnin' to the devil, devil, devil, devil_

 _Runnin' from an angel_

 _Time is singing by, time you made me cry, oh, oh_

 _You'll do what you gotta do, I still love you_

Her heart filled with equal parts relief and dread as the old factory came into view. Only a few more minutes of hobbling down the road and then she'd be home. Of course, home meant...Negan. With a sigh, she swallowed the sour taste in her mouth and pushed through the throbbing pain in her ankle.

Behind her a horn honked and she turned to see one of the supply trucks headed her way. She raised her arm and it came to a stop beside her. The driver, Gavin, leaned over and opened the door for her. With much grunting and effort she dragged herself into the cab of the truck. Thank the fucking lord it wasn't Negan.

"Thanks." She gave him a smile, the first real smile in a month.

"Yeah sure. Haven't seen you in a while."

She pushed her overgrown bangs from her sweaty forehead. "Been here, there. Running errands. You know….same shit, different day."

Gavin laughed. "Ain't that the truth, man. Say, what happened to your foot there?"

She grimaced. "That obvious?"

"Well, I saw you about a mile off the road, limpin like it was your job."

It was Nayna's turn to laugh. "Fuck you, dude."

He chortled as they drove through the gates. She nearly groaned aloud at the sight of the Saviors mingled around the yard. So much for slipping in unnoticed. She scanned the crowd for Negan, but his big ass was nowhere to be seen. Thank fuck.

As she slid out of the cab several Saviors came up to her and welcomed her home. She gave them all perfunctory smiles and made her excuses. Gavin climbed out of the truck and yelled, "Shit's here, help me fuckin' unload."

She waited until everyone's attention was on Gavin, to limp her way over to the side entrance.

She stopped and stared up at the stairs for a beat. The only way to get into the side entry was this fucking flight of stairs. Wrapping her fingers around the rail, she took a deep breath and pulled herself up. Her ankle screamed in protest as she climbed each step. Once she was at the top she glanced back to see if anyone noticed, but they were all too busy exclaiming over whatever the fuck Gavin had brought them.

One set of stairs down. Only five more to go. She shuffled inside and headed towards Dr. Carson's office.

The pills Dr. Carson had given her made her woozy. She had a feeling they weren't exactly the Motrin he'd promised her. She'd seen the horrified look on his face when he pried the boot from her foot. A swollen mess of congealed blood and pus.

He had wanted to keep her overnight in the little shithole he called an infirmary. She declined and promised to be a good girl and stay in bed for the next few days.

"If I get a whiff of a fever or a worse infection, I'll have Negan bring you down here himself," he swore.

"Yeah, yeah."

He shook his head at her. "It's a wonder you don't have a fever now. It'll be a damn near miracle if you don't lose your foot."

"I've had worse."

And so, he'd let her hobble her way out, boots in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other. On the third flight of stairs, the pain had faded to a dull ache.

She crossed the floor and slipped into the service stairs. The acrid sting of smoke made her eyes water and she coughed as her lungs burned. Had she really gone without one for so long that the mere smell bothered her?

As she propelled herself up the stairs, wheezing all along the way, she was glad she'd run into no other Saviors. The last thing she wanted was to have Negan alerted. He'd be attached to her like a fly on shit. No doubt bitching and moaning about her leaving.

She gritted her teeth at the thought of seeing him, though her heart skipped a beat in response. How she hated herself for missing him. How she hated him for not missing her enough.

Nayna jogged up the last flight of stairs. She pushed her way through the door and stopped, blinking and squinting in the dim lighting. The fuck? She didn't remember the lighting being so fucking dim. She shrugged to herself and fumbled through her bag for the keys.

The door popped open and she tossed the keys inside the darkened room, where they clattered onto the end table.

She felt along the wall for a moment, before she flipped the light switches on and nearly screamed.

Negan, who had been sitting across from the door, burst out laughing. He sat reclined with legs splayed open and Lucille propped on his thighs.

"Welcome home, doll."

She dropped her boots on the floor and hung her jacket, bag and bow on the hooks above the little end table. She stayed with her back to him a moment to hide the redness of her face.

"Word sure spreads fast," she groused as she turned back to him and leaned on the door frame. She didn't want to limp in front of him; didn't want to give away any weakness.

He grinned at her, all teeth and leering eyes. "You look like fucking shit."

"Always the charmer."

He raised his brow, though he still had his thousand watt smile aimed at her. "What the fucking fuck happened to 'It'll only be two weeks, Negan?' "

She raked a hand through her disgusting hair. "Ran into some trouble."

His eyes roved down her face, paused at her tits and her hips and settled on her heavily bandaged foot. His smile vanished. "The fuck happened?"

"Three walkers, a dog and some barbed wire."

"That sounds like the start to a bad fucking joke."

She bit back the urge to say that her life was a bad fucking joke. Instead, she stupidly settled for, "I don't think Dr. Carson gave me motrin," while shaking the pills.

"Fucking good. You need more than fucking motrin right now," he said, his gaze still fixated on her foot. A frown line appeared between his brows. If she hadn't known better she would have thought he cared.

"I don't want more than motrin. You know I don't take narcotics." She tossed the pills next to her keys.

"Trust me, doll, you're the last person in the world who would ever fucking get addicted to anything."

She said nothing as she studied him. His eyes followed her tongue as she dragged it across her lower lip. There was a little more gray in his black hair, and he'd neglected to shave.

He was the first to break the silence. "Come in and close the fucking door."

Now it was her turn to raise her brow. "Excuse me? This is my fucking room. Why don't you get your sorry ass out and close the fucking door?"

His eyes narrowed and he stood up. Negan stalked over to her, stopping only when his body brushed against hers. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing. He put a gloved finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look him in the eye. He smelled so fucking good.

"I think you're fucking forgetting who runs this place."

She swallowed. "Fuck you."

His eyes darkened. "Doll, you're already on thin, thin fucking ice with me."

She put her hands on his chest-her heart fluttered a little and she hated herself for it-and pushed. But Negan was as immovable as a mountain.

He put his other fist on her hip and she sucked in a long breath as she tried to turn her hot face away from him. His fingers slid down to her throat. Her heart pounded all the way into her rolling stomach. She found herself leaning into his grip.

"Shut the fucking door." His voice was deadly calm.

She looked into his eyes and nearly slapped him. He knew he was turning her on. He was expecting her to fight and sneer at him. He was hoping for sex.

With a smirk of her own, she kicked the door shut with her uninjured foot. "Happy, King Shit?"

There was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and he let his hand drop. But his stupid smile appeared a moment later. He put a hand on the curve of her back and guided her towards the bed. "Now that wasn't so fucking hard was it?"

"Stop being a condescending fuckwit." She sat down on the bed and he pulled up the chair in front of her, draping Lucille across her thighs this time. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes.

He chuckled. "What? She missed you."

It was his way of saying he missed her. Without actually having to say it. That time she did roll her eyes.

"Why were you sitting in the damned dark, waiting to pounce like some kind of fucking...cat?"

He leaned forward and tapped her knees. "Because, if I hadn't, you'd spend the next two fucking days avoiding me. And," his eyes darkened again and a shadow passed over his face, "I want you to hear what fucking happened from me, not someone else."

She sighed. "Can we please have this conversation tomorrow? I promise I'll come to you first thing in the morning, scouts honor."

"No."

"Negan," she rubbed her hands over her face. "I've been on the road for a _month_. I just spent a week and a half walking here. On a bum fucking foot. I'm so tired my teeth ache. I just want a fucking hot bath and to sleep in my own fucking bed."

There must have been something in her voice, because his eyes searched her face. "Fine, we'll have that conversation in the morning. But first, I want to hear all about your friends down at that prison."

She stiffened. Of course he would fucking ask.

"What, they cast you out on your ass, doll?"

"No." She wrapped her arms around herself, hardly noticing the scrape of barbed wire on her elbows. "I wish they had."

"Doll…."

She fixated on her boots across the room. "Don't."

She didn't want to say it aloud. As long as she didn't tell him, the last month would just remain a terrible dream and nothing more.

"Fuck, Nayna. I'm fucking sorry."

She squeezed her eyes shut as big fat tears rolled down her cheeks of their own accord. A rather large sob slipped from her lips and she gasped for breath. "They're dead," she panted. Another sob and another and another until she couldn't breathe. She was vaguely aware of him sliding Lucille off her lap before pushing her head down between her knees.

When her sobs slowed down and her breathing evened out, he shoved a clear plastic cup in her hand. "Drink."

She obeyed and handed him the shivering cup.

He tugged her to her feet. "Come on."

"Where-"

"-you need alcohol."

"You know I don't drink."

He gave her a bland smile as he opened the door. "You think I would let anything happen to you?"

"Negan…"

"You drink, I'll fucking stay sober, how's that?"

"I don't know…." God she wanted to go with him so bad it made her heart ache.

He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her out the door and down to the end of the hall. Slowly, they ascended the stairs to the top floor where his room was.

He sat her down in one of the ugliest chairs she'd ever seen and turned to the bar. "Pick your poison."

"Surprise me," she said.

He laughed. "You'll be sorry."

As he busied himself with whatever he was making her, she studied the room. She hadn't been in here since the night she'd left. Funny how so much and so little things changed in the course of a month. Hell, a month was all it took for the world to crumble into the utter shitzone it was now.

He put the glass of golden liquid in front of her and sat on the opposite couch, resting his ankle atop his knee. "Go on then."

She picked it up and sighed.

"Don't be a fuckin pussy, just toss that shit back."

Nayna rolled her eyes and slammed the drink in one go. It fucking burned like hell all the way down, but she kept her face neutral. There was a hint of pride in his eyes.

"Good girl. More?"

"No."

"It's okay to let go."

"I don't want a fucking hangover tomorrow," she lied, inspecting the glass. It too was new.

"You sure they're dead?"

She bit her lips and nodded.

"How can you be fucking sure? The place could've gotten overrun and they could've fucked off."

"There was a fucking tank in the yard and the fences were down. They're dead, Negan."

"Nayna, I'm sorry. I truly fucking am."

"I always thought that I'd go back, you know? I stupidly assumed they would be alright. I mean, we all survived together for so long, I thought they would always be there."

She shuddered as the alcohol began to hit her. Suddenly she realized the alcohol and whatever Dr Carson had given her were not a good combination. She felt incredibly light headed, though that could be blamed on her heartsickness.

She buried her face in her hands, ashamed to be crying in front of him. She hated herself for it and it made her cry all the more.

Negan knelt down, his hands on her thighs. "Hey, you're home now. It'll all be okay."

She peered at him through her fingers, through the tears and for a moment, the old Negan shimmered in front of her. The one she'd fallen in love with in the first place. Her heart hurt so bad thinking about him. It was enough to make her want to lay down and die right there.

"Doll," he murmured and stroked her hair from her face. She shuddered and leaned into his palm.

Her heart kept her rooted to the chair even as her brain screamed for her to get up and walk away. Screamed for her to run.

Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. He froze and her heart sank.

Both her heart and her brain now screamed for her to get away. Because it was happening again. Her hands came up to his shoulders and just as she was about to push him away, he cradled her head between his big paws and his lips slid easily over hers. Just like they used to.

He pulled her up with him, until her body was flush against his. She could feel herself melting into him and even though part of her knew this was a bad idea, the part that ached for him, for love, pushed on allowing her to open her mouth for his roving tongue.

He explored her mouth, so achingly slow. She wanted him to hurry up and she also wanted him to take his time.

His hand crept up her shirt, stopping just short of her bra. His thumb slid underneath and stroked along the curve of her breast. He chuckled at the sigh she blew into his mouth.

Maybe it was the bourbon, but she felt dizzy and unsteady. Or maybe it was just Negan and they way he always made her feel.

His other hand tangled in her hair, pulling back her head for better access to her throat. She giggled breathlessly, squirming against him, as his teeth scraped their way down to her collarbone.

By this time, he'd palmed her breast, weighing it, squeezing it, thumbing her nipple. She arched her back, pressing her body against his.

His hardness pushed against her belly and she pushed back, pleased to finally have elicited a groan from him.

The hand in her hair moved down to cup her ass and pull her in closer.

She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, letting her breast tumble completely into his waiting hand.

She crumpled his shirt and yanked it off over his head. Before the shirt had even hit the floor, her fingertips traced their way along the muscles of his chest, down to the scar on his side. Though she knew every inch of his body, inside and out, she needed to remind herself what it felt like to touch him.

Her lips quickly followed the path her fingers made. As she kissed her way down to his belt, her hands were making quick work of it.

He stopped her and pulled her back up and claimed her mouth again, this time kissing her with such force, her lips would be plenty bruised and swollen in the morning.

Negan reached down and grabbed her thighs. He hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around his hips. He carried to her the bed and as he lay her down he swung his legs over her.

"You fucking want this?" He whispered against her lips. It was the most erotic sentence she'd ever heard.

She wanted him to touch her all over. To stretch himself over her. She wanted to lose herself in him. Yes, she fucking wanted this.

Nayna answered with a kiss.

Being with him felt like coming home.


	2. Chapter 2

_Part One: Flight_

Nayna cursed as the mattress dipped and she collided into the body of another person. What a fucking way to be pulled from sleep. It was too dark to see anything other than the outline of a person on the edge of the bed, but the musky scent lingering over her belonged to the one person she didn't want to see.

She pried her tongue from the roof of her mouth. "Rick?" Her voice cracked.

"Yeah," came the reply. He shifted, and she shifted with him, his body warm against hers. "Daryl in your bed again?"

She tried to swallow the sandpapery feeling from her mouth. He couldn't see the flush creeping up her chest as she moved to sit up, her knee sliding against his back. Her stupid heart fluttered in response, as if she hadn't just been touching him.

"Nayna?" He half glanced at her over his shoulder.

She reached around him for the water at his night stand. Her throat ached with dryness. When he realized what she was going for, he made to grab it as well, his hand bumping into hers. She sucked in her lower lip to prevent herself from sighing with longing and self-irritation.

As she gulped the water down, he leaned over and lit the lamp. Two white hot needle-like stabs of pain shot through her eyes to her brain. Fuck. She blinked her way into sight and recoiled at him watching her, a bemused expression on his face.

She rubbed her forehead to hide her horror at being caught in his bed…. again. She could have gone to sleep in the bed they reserved for Michonne, who was so often absent. So could have Daryl. Some habits were too deeply ingrained.

She shook her head, as if that could clear her thoughts. It didn't work. It never did.

Breathing out a sigh, she started kicking off the blankets.

"Move over," Rick said.

"What?"

"Move over," he said, as he'd said every single time he'd caught her in his cell. She dreaded the day he would stop telling her to move, yet it didn't stop her from trying to leave. She had no clue why she played these games with herself. They were exhausting, and they gained her nothing.

She obliged him and lay her head on his pillow, staring unabashed as he threw his boots in the corner and wormed his way out of his shirt. Her brows shot up. That was a new development. Usually he left his shirt on. Her breaths came out in short spurts as he climbed in next to her instead of pulling on another clean shirt.

Fuck. Her heart hammered in her chest when his arm skimmed hers as he folded his arm behind his head.

He turned his head back towards her. "What?"

"How's the line look?" She blurted.

His brow furrowed, and he sighed again. "Can this wait until tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course. Sorry, you know how my brain is." She let out a breathy, stupid laugh and immediately regretted it. She always sounded dumb around him. Or made herself into a fool for him. It was all she could do to quell her temper at herself. Thankfully, Rick never seemed to notice her idiocy.

He smiled and reached over, twisting his fingers against her temple like he would wind a watch. "Turn that brain off. You need to sleep."

"I would have if you hadn't so rudely kicked me awake," she teased, grinning back at him as her heart leapt at the brush of his fingers.

He paused for a moment then rolled to face her, propping himself up on one elbow. "The line is okay. We'll need to double down, but they've been thinning the herd."

Her eyes found his. "Think we need more people on fence duty?"

In truth she barely knew what she was talking about. Mostly she was trying to distract herself from his thigh against hers, from his lips hovering less than a foot above her and from the urge to pull him on top of her.

"No, I think we're okay for now."

"We should reinforce the fence. Chain link isn't the sturdiest of materials."

"It's not. But we're okay for now. And we've got Andrea in case…"

He didn't finish, but he didn't have to. The Governor hung in the air between them, chopping away at any sense of comfort she'd felt a moment before. He absentmindedly rubbed the stump of his arm.

Whenever she was reminded of the Governor's cruelty, she varied between anger at him and anger at herself. She should have gone. She should have been there to protect him.

"I'd rather keep the line a bit thicker."

She blinked at him. "Aren't you afraid by keeping him out, we'll be keeping ourselves in?"

"Maybe. I don't think it'll come to that. I don't think he'll come back at all."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she muttered.

"It's been over eight months. He's gone. He's probably dead. Michonne said she'd left him for dead."

"As good as dead."

"Exactly."

"That's not a 100% guarantee."

They fell into silence, while Nayna flipped through her brain in search of something to talk about, as he leaned over and flicked off the gas lamp.

"You know, I was thinking—"

"–go to sleep, Nayna."

"But—"

"–goodnight."

The next morning, she stood at the foot of her own bed, arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at Daryl. "Well, just make yourself at home."

Daryl snored in response. Ass. He slept like the dead. Smelled like it too.

They'd done this dance dozens of times. Yet today felt different. She couldn't put her finger on why.

She stepped over his haphazard pile of clothes and put her boot on the edge of the bed, giving it several hard shakes.

He sprang up, knife in his hand and a wild look in his eye.

"Oh good, you're up."

"What the hell, man?" He squinted at her. "What fucking time is it?"

"Time for you to get the hell up…And put some pants on. I really don't wanna see you in your underwear. No offense." She picked his pants up with her forefinger and thumb and held them out to him. They smelled just as bad as he did.

He snatched them away. "No offense, Daryl." He mimicked her as he stuffed himself in his pants.

"I mean no offense. Don't get your tighty whiteys in a twist."

"I don't wear tighty whiteys."

As evidenced by his previous state of undress, he did not wear tighty whiteys, but she still liked to tease in a sisterly sort of way.

"Did you even shower?"

"No."

"Gross, dude."

He rubbed his ass into the mattress. "Don't get all in a tizzy. I'll do your laundry."

She wanted to grimace. She laughed instead. "You better. You smell like a skunk rolled in an ashtray."

"Awful kind of you." He lay back on her bed, arms behind his head. "What the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

She rubbed her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't sleep much."

"You and Rick do a little….?" He rocked on the bed, making it creak and groan.

Her face flamed. "No! Fuckin' perv.

He snickered. "But you slept in his bed."

"Shut up!" She glared at him. He'd never teased her about Rick before. He'd joked about her being too drunk to find her bed, but never about sleeping with Rick.

"I dunno why you do this to yourself. Save us all the trouble and tell him."

A lump formed in her throat. "Tell him what?"

"Don't play dumb."

She pressed her cheek into her shoulder and turned her back to him. Was it so obvious that even Daryl had noticed? No, she just wasn't giving him the credit he deserved. He wasn't dumb, for all his redneck ways.

Before she could play dumb again, he spoke, "What you waitin' for, anyway?"

She picked at the peeling laminate on the fading dresser. She could either continue the game (always with the games!) or just admit it. She blew out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It'd be a relief to tell someone. Even if that someone was Daryl. No, especially since that someone was Daryl.

"Nayna?"

She cleared her throat. "Giving him time to heal. It hasn't been that long since Lori died."

"It's been a year."

She shrugged as she studied the exposed wood. In truth it wasn't as simple as merely giving Rick time to mourn. Yes, he needed space, but if he rejected her, she didn't know how she would stand it.

Her nail dragged across the surface of the dresser, slicing through the paint. Out of all people, Daryl should have known her fear of rejection. It was his fear too. He too, still held back, even while being accepted by the group. A leftover defense mechanism from a childhood filled with abuse and pain.

She flicked off a piece of the chipped paint. "Meeting's at 7 tonight."

He stared at her for a beat but accepted her change of subject. "Why so damn late?"

"Between the run, fence duty and watches, it's the only time the rest of the council is available." She half-smiled, though her heart wasn't really in it. She really wished he would just go away.

He reached down into his bag and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. He popped it between his lips.

"Hey! Come on, no smoking in here. You know the rules. Take that shit outside."

He begrudgingly got up and shrugged himself into his vest. "Act like you don't smoke ever."

"I don't!"

"Every time I light one, you fucking look like I kicked your dog."

She stared longingly at the cigarette, already tasting the ash. She hadn't had one since the day after they'd saved Rick from the tank. William asked her so many times to quit smoking and she always had an excuse. A big case or a court date or an inquiry. But Rick complained once and she quit there on the spot.

Nayna shook her head. "Point is, no one wants to breathe that crap in."

"I'm going, I'm going." He paused at the curtain and turned back to her. "See you out there?"

God, he wouldn't fuck off. She shook her head, rubbing her thumb across her bottom lip. A gesture she picked up from Rick. "Got watch later."

"Have fun."

"Always."

After Daryl had left, she wriggled herself into a new set of clothes, pausing to press her shirt to her nose. Rick's scent lingered, and she nuzzled her face into it, imagining it was his shoulder. Then she froze. What the fuck was she doing? She threw the shirt across the room, as if it were a bomb about to explode.

The only bomb that was going to go off was her if she didn't get her shit together.

She untangled her braid and ran a wet comb through her hair. She'd wash it later. For now, it was enough to wet it down and re-braid it. When she was finished, she ran her hand through her hair, pushing the stray hairs from her face.

Too restless to sit down, she paced her cell while she picked at her nails. On one hand, Daryl may have been right. On the other, Rick still talked to Lori on the phone.

Rick never mentioned it to her, and Nayna pretended not to notice. On the occasions she'd walked in on him using the phone, she always pretended to be looking elsewhere, giving him the chance to pretend it wasn't what it looked like. It made her heart ache, just thinking about him missing his dead wife.

She never thought of her own dead husband anymore, except in passing. How fucking cold she must look to Rick. She had loved William, once upon a time. But now, that life was behind her. Surely Rick would understand.

She stopped in the middle of her cell, decorated with Carl's drawings and Judith's handprints and sighed. Standing alone, in the middle of her cell wouldn't solve anything. Overthinking wouldn't do shit for her.

There was still a good half-hour before her shift started, so she shuffled over to her desk and opened her satchel. As she did every morning, she emptied it and examined each item one by one. Both Daryl and Rick made fun of her for it, but it'd saved their asses on more than one occasion.

Everything looked to be in order and so was put back in the same order it had been removed. She slung the bag over her shoulder and began her pre-watch routine. Bag, then bow, then Sig. Lastly, the fucking leather jacket she and William had argued over for months.

Ducking out of her cell, she waved to Andrea and Dale, playing some sort of card game with Billy and Ben.

"Mornin'!" Dale called to her. "Where you headed so early? Goin' on the run?"

"Nah, got watch."

Andrea smiled. "Go fish. Well, good luck. Glenn and Maggie are on watch now."

"Oh boy."

Both Andrea and Dale laughed, and the boys laughed with them, though they were too young to know why.

She waved and weaved her way out of the prison and into the yard. In the early morning light with the mists hovering over the grass it was a hauntingly beautiful sight. It only took the end of the world for her to appreciate the beauty of nature.

Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she hustled to the tower and up the stairs. Too cold to dawdle, even to just watch the sunrise. That and she was very nearly late.

She yanked the guard tower door open and immediately covered her eyes. "Jesus! Can't you two fuck somewhere else?"

Glenn laughed sheepishly from the floor. "Sorry, we didn't realize it was so late."

"No kidding." She turned away and pulled the door shut behind her.

Seeing Glenn and Maggie so entangled in each other made her feel lonelier than ever. Andrea had Dale. Michonne had Tyreese. Maggie had Glenn. Nayna wanted to have Rick. It was that simple and yet, that complicated. She gripped the railing and stared out into the open. Maybe Daryl was right. Maybe it had been long enough. Maybe it was time. Maybe she could let herself go and be happy for once.

Her heart pounded in response and she closed her eyes with a sigh. The door opened behind her and Maggie and Glenn both shuffled out and down the ladder, still apologizing.

She leaned over the rail and shouted down to Glenn. "I hope you guys are using condoms!"

He glared up at her and she laughed as he gestured to Hershel, who was too busy showing Axel the plow to notice. Nayna waved down to Glenn and he gave her a one fingered salute in return.

Still chortling she went to the north side of the tower, eyes scanning over the small sea of roamers below. Nothing looked amiss. She went back inside the tower. She'd make another pass in a few minutes.

And so, the process would repeat again and again and again over the course of the next few hours. The only break in the monotony was the sight of the roamers stripping a buck down to its bones in the matter of minutes.

Her stomach rolled, and she curled her lip. That fucking deer could have feed them all for a few days. Those fuckers down there were never satisfied, never full.

She glanced down, and her heart leapt at the sight of Rick sauntering up to the guard tower. He waved at her. She grinned and waved back.

She walked around to the other side of the tower, twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt. Her stomach was doing stupid little flips as he jogged up the stairs. She grasped the railing and leaned forward, pressing her quivering abdomen against the cold, hard railing. The better to keep her from squirming in nervous anticipation.

Fucking Daryl. Now she was a damn wreck.

"Hey," Rick said, sliding in next to her."

She smiled. "Hi. Weren't you just on watch?"

"Came up here to check on you."

She gave a tittering laugh. Touched as she was, she scoffed and playfully punched him in the shoulder. "Oh please, you just wanted an excuse to come up here."

Rick smiled his slow southern smile. She tried to hide her flushed cheeks by bending down to examine her boots. She licked her thumb and wiped off invisible dirt. Goddamn Daryl.

When her breaths evened out, she glanced back up at him. He was far away, his attention focused on the walkers. She brushed a few stray hairs from her face and shuffled her feet.

"What'd they get?" he asked, all traces of sweet smile gone.

Her eyes flitted back to the carcass. "Deer."

He sighed. "There goes dinner."

She twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt. "Yup." Inwardly she grimaced. Damn Daryl for putting the possibility in her mind.

Rick laid his stump on the rail and shifted towards her. "You alright?"

She cracked her knuckles. "Yeah, why?"

His smile was indulgent. "You seem jittery.

Her returning smile was bland. "I don't know why."

"Everything okay? Anything you want to talk about?"

Yes. "No, not really," she said in a higher pitch than normal.

A hint of concern flashed on his face through his bemused expression. He stepped closer to her. "If something is bothering you, you'd tell me, right?"

She pressed her cheek to her shoulder and folded her hands under her arms to hide their sudden shakiness. The pounding of her heart almost drowned out his words. Suddenly, she felt very far away and all too aware of her body's reaction to his nearness.

As she glanced up at him, she tried not to get lost in the sea of his eyes. If only he would make this easy on her and kiss her first. She could practically taste him, he was so close. This was her only chance. She couldn't fathom ever being this alone with him again.

"Nayna?"

She licked her lips and steeled herself. It was now or never. Raising herself up on tiptoe, she tilted her head back and pressed her mouth to his. As she kissed him, a wave of giddiness washed over her, and she had to swallow a nervous giggle.

A smile crossed her lips as his left hand cupped her shoulder and he rested his forearm on the other. Her smile faded when he gently pushed her away.

"Nayna," he sighed.

She shivered as if she'd been plunged into cold, cold water. That little sigh cut deep, piercing the fragile heart she kept locked away. She gritted her teeth as the inevitable Rick speech came, though his words were tunneled and hollow. Only one singular phrase stood out—"I don't feel that way about you."

She sucked in a sharp breath, cutting him off. Her fingers held the railing in a death grip as Rick rubbed his hand up and down her arm. He thought he was comforting her.

Swatting his hand away, she took a step back. "No."

All the adrenaline in the world couldn't save her now. All her quick thinking disappeared as her sluggish brain recycled her mother's voice, telling her she was stupid. Stupid for opening herself up. Stupid for allowing herself to fucking hope.

Stupid enough to listen to Daryl.

Rick brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She jerked back.

"Nayna…" He reached out again and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb.

"Stop it!" She cried and slapped his hand away again.

He recoiled. "You're crying."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

She swiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. "T-there's something in my eye."

"Hey, it's okay–"

She cleared her throat. "I've got a… thing. I'm just going to…"

Nayna fumbled for the door to the tower. Her hands shook too much for her to open it. She stood there, further humiliated, waiting for Rick to open it for her.

"Please." She whispered into the glass, almost too soft for him to hear. But he did, and he obliged her.

The last thing she heard before the tower door slammed shut behind her was his soft pitying voice whispering "Oh, Nayna."


End file.
